


The Influence of Yesterday

by rhythmickorbit



Series: From Spark to Sky [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But just barely tho, Canonical Character Death, Cults, Drift misses his husband, First Meetings, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internalized Functionism, Kindness, Mentors, Mild Gore, Missing Persons, Mystery, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, Prejudice, Swords, Turbofoxes, beastformers, but he adopts a turbofox son, disrespecting the dead, functionism, internalized prejudice, less emphasis on dratchet, murders, other relationships come up later and are implied, thats it thats the plot basically, the focus is on the bond between venture and drift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-01-24 05:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Drift takes to helping the downtrodden after Ratchet's passing. A newly-forged turbofox seeks him out.“Name’s Venture, sir. Venture of Vespertine Blue,” he said, glancing at Drift with an anxious expression. Drift stiffened a little bit, but held his glossa. “My spark brother is missin’, and I really need help finding him.”
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Venture (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock (Transformers) & Original Character(s), Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Series: From Spark to Sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504169
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Shadows, and then none

The back alleys of Iacon were cold, practically untouched by the light and warmth that flowed through New Cybertron’s natural formations. Being more or less obscured by the bot-made buildings that loomed above, these streets were dark, hidden passageways. Wind flowed through without much life behind it, without the taste of energon that generally accompanied it. 

A faint chill brushed lightly against Drift’s outer armor. His finials twitched every so often, an unconscious action meant to keep his extremities from freezing off, but otherwise he did not shiver, did not react to the cold. His engine ran hot, and he had faced conditions far worse than a small, dead breeze.

This cycle had been long, longer than usual, and every ridge of Drift’s frame hungered for the cozy, though admittedly cluttered, solitude of his apartment. For once, he didn’t have anyone staying with him, and for that he felt grateful. He had such a small apartment in the slums of every city on New Cybertron, feeding his undirected wanderlust that had caught fire ever since Ratchet’s departure to the Afterspark. In a move that was stubborn as his conjunx had been, Drift remained on New Cybertron, even when offered (multiple) chances to leave, to galavant around the universe again like he once did.

No, Drift had not “settled down”, per se, despite his choice to remain on-planet. He had not fallen into a specific, domestic routine like some of his other former shipmates (though Primus knew that some of those routines were odd enough). Drift stuck to the sheltered, shadowed alleyways of the cities, searching the sides of the road for those with deadened optics, frames shuddering with hunger, hands shaking with the effects of yet unnamed drugs. Drift found these vagabonds, and he took them in, for better or for worse. His tiny apartments were, more often than not, occupied by three or four other ‘bots, homeless or addicted or hungry. Drift saw himself in those mecha, and a determination wormed through his circuits to extend the hand that he never had for so long. Of course, not all ‘bots that he helped would take his help, or do what, ultimately, would be the best thing for their health. Drift couldn’t fault them for that, and couldn’t force them to piece their lives together. Nonetheless, he remained a presence, someone to take them to the clinics if they had an overdose, someone to share a cube of energon with a starving ‘bot.

There was also the fact that Drift didn’t feel ready to face the teeming, bright life on the more glamorous parts of the world by himself yet. Even so, he had gained a different sort of fame among the alleyways, a more positive name for himself than that which had been given in the past-- a title that Ratchet would have scoffed at, would have retorted that one didn’t need notoriety in order to do good things. Despite their many spats, Drift would have agreed with that opinion. “The Silver of the Slums” was a pretentious thing to be called.

Still, despite his own mental state, it was lonely living by himself after so many years of sharing a space with his conjunx. Drift kept his shoulders forward, didn’t allow them to slump. He had his own life to live, now, and it wouldn’t do anything for Ratchet’s memory to wallow; he had figured that out long ago. He crossed through the circle of blue-tinged light, marking one of the few places where a streetlamp had been installed in this district. Drift kept the corners of his vision alert, his audials sharp. The newsparks of New Cybertron were impulsive, and wouldn’t hesitate to jump someone if they were desperate.

Drift paused, standing directly in the midst of the street lamp’s halo. The smallest, quietest pitter-patter echoed in the street behind him. The assumption that the streets were quiet tonight had proved to be false. Senses sharpened by half-activated, half-forgotten battle protocols, Drift scanned the area with steady, narrowed optics. Whoever his stalker was, they were fast-- as soon as Drift had ceased moving, the movements grew quick before stopping as well. Staving off the impulse to draw a blade, he kept his audials focused on the area around him. The stranger was not far, and had not run away-- they were merely hidden, waiting for Drift to lose interest. 

A tiny  _ thunk _ reverberated through the space to Drift’s left. Slowly, he turned toward an overturned waste receptacle. His finials twitched in slight surprise. A brave ‘bot it was, to be daring enough to stalk him and yet to be so small that they could fit underneath of such a narrow space.

Of course, bravery never truly had anything to do with the size of one’s frame.

“I know that you’re in there,” Drift called, keeping his voice even, nonthreatening. “Come out, now.”

Tiny pedesteps, slow and deliberate, echoed from the space underneath of the container. Gradually, what appeared to be a feline beastformer slinked out from underneath of the dumpster. As the ‘bot padded into the light Drift realized that they were not a feline, but a turbofox. His optics narrowed ever-so-slightly in a sudden burst of suspicion. Turbofoxes-- on New Cybertron, at least-- did not usually dwell in cities. They found their forms better suited to the wild crystal fields, where they ate raw crystal and lived in tiny, isolated communities. Of course, Drift corrected himself mentally, there were plenty of exceptions to a supposed rule; one could not assume the lifestyle of an individual simply based on convention.

The turbofox’s optics, violet and wide and solemn, stared up at Drift. His tail was lowered, a respectful gesture, if Drift remembered Minimus’ comments on the matter long ago, and their head lowered deferentially.

“Hello, sir,” said the turbofox. “Sorry to give ya such a fright, an’ following ya all sneaky-like. Wasn’t sure how to approach ya, given yer reputation and all.”

“It precedes me, as it has always done,” Drift remarked dryly. “But even so, there are better ways to approach someone than stalking them through a darkened street.”

“Well,” the turbofox ducked his head sheepishly. “Yes. Goes without sayin’. I’m sorry for that, Drift, sir, but I just wasn’t certain if ya would listen to me.”

Drift’s vents let out a half-amused, half-exasperated puff of air. “I’m simply a helping hand to those in the slums, newspark. I don’t have a set list of clients to help, you know.”

“Well, I dunno,” the turbofox’s tail twitched. “I guess I just assumed that ya were busy with somethin’... as legends tend to be. Or, rather, as I assume they tend to be.”

“I was walking down an alley. I don’t qualify that as busy at the moment.”

“Okay, okay,” the turbofox’s audials folded back. “I didn’t know if ya had anywhere important to be or anythin’. I’m sorry for followin’ ya, honest!”

Drift held up his hands. “Easy, sparkling. I’m just teasing you. Why don’t we start with your name? You can tell me your troubles while you walk with me to my apartment.”

The turbofox considered this for a second, tilting his head in thought. Finally, he nodded, and Drift gestured for the beast to follow him as he began to walk again. The turbofox trotted behind.

“Name’s Venture, sir. Venture of Vespertine Blue,” he said, glancing at Drift with an anxious expression. Drift stiffened a little bit, but held his glossa. “My spark brother is missin’, and I really need help finding him.”

“Have you asked law enforcement?” the words simply fell out of Drift’s mouth before he could stop it. Of course Venture had gone to law enforcement-- he wouldn’t be turning desperately to Drift if he hadn’t. 

Venture’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Been to ‘em five times. They always say that they don’t know nothin’, and then tell me that they’ll call me back. I guess… I can’t blame ‘em, though. The troubles of a ‘fox ain’t enough to outweigh the murders, I suppose.”

“Wait.” Drift stopped in place. “Murders?” His finials twitched backward as he attempted to recall any reports on the matter.

“Yeah, you didn’t know? I thought that ya woulda. They’re real gruesome and all-- bitemarks right at the spark, energon drained. It’s real tragic.”

“Well, I suppose that I know now.” Drift shook his helm, attempting to knock away memories of spark-eaters and death. He wasn’t going to dwell on past horrors, however similar they were to the present— not right now. “You don’t think that… your brother is a victim, do you?”

Venture shook his helm in a vehement way. “No. He’s alive, I can feel it.” His jaw plate tensed. “Deep in my spark. I think he’s trapped, sir, and I need ya to help me. Please?” His optics widened in that persuasive way that beastformers were so proficient at.

Drift hardly paid attention to those wide optics, or so he convinced himself. His thoughts turned to Minimus and Dominus, and how close they once were-- their sparks were intertwined, and Minimus would later confess, during a hazy, late night shift, when no one was truly in their right mind, how much he truly missed his brother. His thoughts turned to Ratchet, whose voice still echoed within Drift’s processor sometimes. Ratchet would simultaneously berate Drift for even playing with the idea of taking on such a vague and preposterous mission and approve of his altruism-- or Drift would have liked to think. Finally, Drift let his vents cycle with air as he turned his gaze back toward Venture.

“I’ll help you,” Drift said finally.

Venture’s ears shot forward. His tail lashed in excitement as he stared up at Drift, a grin on his face. “Oh, thank you, sir. We’ll find my brother in a jiffy and I’ll be outta yer armor soon enough!” He practically bounced as Drift continued to walk.

Drift wondered briefly if this was a mistake. “Once we reach my apartment,” he said. “You can tell me what you know, and where we can begin looking.”

“I have a list already, sir! I can show ya! Got a datapad right in my subspace!” Venture chirped, voice laced with happiness. His tail waved up and down, trotting beside Drift. “I’ll make it worth yer while, sir! I promise you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place at about the same time as the rest of From Spark to Sky. Take everything I say that happens with a grain of salt! I may have edited canon a bit to fit my dark purposes.
> 
> Also. The dratchet is more in the background than anything so please forgive me. This is more of a focus on the growing bond between Drift and Venture :)


	2. Hunger and Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venture joins Drift over a cube (and dish) of morning energon. They discuss their future course of action.

He was so hungry. All around, within the crush of metallic bodies, he smelled energy. Sustenance. The optics of those around him, their expressions— they meant nothing. Nothing in the face of the sweetest of scents. The air tasted like it. Tasted like metal, energy, _sparks_.

He put a hand up to his face, to cover the oral lubricant oozing out of his mouth. He bit down, sinking his fangs into his fingers, causing energon to well up from the new lesions in his armor. His tanks churned, but not with nausea. 

He was so, so, hungry.

He transformed, falling onto all four paws. There were pedesteps far away. His audials twitched toward the sound. He bared his fangs, the last semblance of restraint simply _snapping. _A growl rumbled deep, deep within his vocalizer, and the edges of his vision glowed green. He bunched up his limbs, and ran toward the noise. The shape of this target-- it was blurry, meaning nothing as he bit down on their neck cables.

Delicious.

* * *

Venture awoke with a start, almost jerking away the connection between himself and the recharge port. With shaking hands, he unplugged the cable in the back of his head. How had he reached a recharge slab? He wasn’t at home, was he? The very concept made his circuits shudder with dread. The warm slab was completely unlike the cold metal of the streets. Had he been arrested? Kidnapped? The fearful protocols in the back of his processor, left over from the nightmare, made his limbs shake violently.

The previous night flooded into the forefront of Venture’s processor, and his frame slackened in relief. Morning light, blue-tinted and inviting, filtered in through the windows across from the recharge slab. There was more than one in this room, each looking slightly worn—scratches and burn marks adorned the edges.

From the adjacent room, Venture heard movement. His audials perked up, and Venture tasted the air. His olfactory sensors picked up energon. Despite remnants of the horror from the nightmare still remaining, his mouth watered with hunger, surpassing any fear that may have lingered. He was undercharged, and desperately so; searching for his brother among the streets of Iacon, Venture had been unable to obtain fuel, as he lacked an occupation-- and, further, it wasn’t like there were any raw crystals to forage for. 

Venture shifted into his beast mode, and hopped off of the recharge slab. His paws made no noise on the soft meshes below, and he started with how soft they were. He remembered knocking them off of the slab the night before, afraid that they would suffocate him while he was recharging.

He sniffed them carefully. They smelled of cleaning solvent, not of anything concrete. He pushed his nose into the meshes briefly, savoring the texture for a moment.

Still, the smell of fuel wafting in the air was enough to draw him away from the softness. Venture padded toward the smell, poking his helm through the doorway of the other room. Sitting at the counter of a small kitchenette was Drift, sipping a half-filled cube of energon. The scent of calm floated from his EM field, lingering with the scent of energon. Across from him sat a filled container, shaped perfectly for a beast-mode to lap out of.

Drift glanced toward him. His optics were friendly, yet wary at the same time. Venture lowered his helm deferentially.

“Mornin’, sir,” he said softly, trotting toward the stool in front of the energon. He tried to keep his pace slow—he didn’t want to seem rude, or desperate. That wasn’t how you convinced people to help you.

“Hello, Venture,” Drift greeted as Venture hopped onto the stool. “Did you recharge well?”

“Well, truthfully, sir, I ain’t had a good cycle of recharge since my brother up and disappeared,” Venture admitted, eyeing the energon. He hoped that Drift wouldn’t mind if this conversation was brief. “Nothin’ to do with yer recharge set-up, promise. It’s a whole lot comfier than the street.”

“I imagine so.” Slight amusement laced Drift’s voice and EM field as he observed Venture’s optics flickering toward the fuel. “You don’t need to wait for permission from me to eat, newspark.”

With almost a palpable relief, Venture lowered his head and practically gulped the fuel down. The process was far messier than eating the energon crystals from his settlement—the liquid splashed as much on the table as it went into his intake. Nonetheless, Venture didn’t stop gulping the sweet energon down until the last few drops were gone from the dish.

He froze, looking at the splatters on the table. If Wander were here, he would have side-eyed Venture with those disappointed optics of his. Tail lowered in shame, Venture glanced up at Drift, who stared at him in slight astonishment.

“Sorry, sir,” Venture mumbled. “Been awhile since I’ve refueled.”

“No need to apologize,” Drift said crisply. “I didn’t realize that you were that hungry.”

“I made a mess, though,” Venture winced, remembering the etiquette lessons that Wander had given him. “I’m bein’ rude.”

“I know what it means to be hungry, newspark, and I’ve seen many underfueled since. Etiquette is not nearly as important as you refueling,” Drift waved his hand nonchalantly. “You can mop up the spill, if it makes you feel better.” He paused. “Would you like more?”

Tanks still gurgling incessantly, Venture nodded, feeling meek.

Drift took the dish and walked over to the energon dispensary on the other side of the kitchenette. “I’ve contacted a friend of mine that could help us with your problem,” he said, glancing back at Venture briefly. “We’ll be meeting him tomorrow. Do you know any place where we ought to look, first, before we do that?”

Venture hesitated. He’d expected Drift to take the lead on this, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, and never thought that the warrior would even consider his opinion. Venture would be lying if he said that he didn’t think that Drift would be able to figure it out right off the bat, even if only a little.

“Well, my brother lived in the academic apartments near the fancy school in the middle of the city,” Venture pondered. “Was a doctor-type, ya know. He didn’t go to no bars or nothin’, just studied and such, all the time. He said as much in his letters.”

“Did he have a place where he went regularly?”

“He always talked about how much he loved that huge, fancy library in Medic’s Quad,” Venture recalled. “You don’t reckon that he was taken from there, do ya, sir?”

Drift placed the dish of energon in front of Venture. “I don’t know. That’s why we have to go look there,” he said matter-of-factly.

Venture bent his head down, lapping at the energon in a more delicate manner. Though his tanks still ached from residual hunger, he was not as drastically under-fueled, and so was able to control his pace as he swallowed the fuel down. Truthfully, he had only ever had processed energon once or twice— his settlement had refueled with the raw, crystalline form, for the most part, and the times that Venture had come to visit his brother were those where he had tasted energy in its liquid form. 

He raised his gaze back toward Drift, who was looking at him thoughtfully. “Wander also spent a lotta time in his dorm room. Only been there once or twice, myself,” Venture commented, tail twitching as he pondered. “I tried to ask if I could go in, but they wouldn’t let me, on account of me not bein’ a student there. You reckon it might be the same at the library?”

Drift frowned slightly. “I don’t know. Did you show your identification at the dorms, though? The medical schools will usually allow spark-bonded of any caliber to enter like the other academies, do they not?” His finials twitched.

“No one told the ‘bot in the front that,” Venture mumbled. “He said that he didn’t want me causin’ no ruckus, and to wait for my brother. But my brother’s _ gone, _and I can’t figure it out! Not without lookin’ and sniffin’ at his things, that is. All I got are letters that he sent me.” His tail flicked toward the pile of datapads on the adjacent counter. “And he never went into too much detail. I reckon that medical types have got to keep a whole buncha secrets.”

Drift seemed to study Venture’s expression for a moment. “...I suppose that may be the case,” he said after a pause. “I could probably help you get into your spark brother’s dorm room. And the library.”

Venture’s helm tilted. “Really? How?” His optics widened, spark suddenly rising with excitement. “Are we gonna break in? Sir, are ya gonna challenge those stuffy ‘bots to a duel?”

Drift smiled, though the expression looked a little pained. “No. I simply have... prior connections,” he said.

“Oh, okay.” The scent of Drift’s EM field had shifted into something elusive and painful, close and private-- just as Wander’s tended to. Venture knew better than to push it; Wander often snapped when bothered, and Venture was never certain if others were the same way. He lapped up the remainder of the energon in his dish. “Wherever’s closer, we can go. I can pick up the scent of his EM field if he was there enough.” Venture grinned, trying to project some degree of confidence. He remembered Wander’s advice clearly: that older ‘bots preferred it rather than Venture’s usual hesitation. Besides, it wasn’t like he was lying.

“Your olfactory sensors can pick up EM fields?” Drift’s finials perked up, field tangy with curiosity. His optics glowed with genuine interest, and Venture couldn’t help but puff out his chest slightly.

“It ain’t normal, I know-- Wander called me an ‘outlier’, though I ain’t sure what that means, exactly. But EM fields have different smells to ‘em, for me. I can feel them, like any other ‘bot-- but I can also track folks that way.” Venture’s tail lowered bashfully. “‘S how I followed ya through the streets, sir. Sorry if that was intrusive. You ain’t easy to find, otherwise.”

Drift smiled at him in a way that Venture hoped was warm. “My stealth comes from vorns of practice, sparkling. You have a unique talent-- don’t discount that. I think that it’ll be helpful in finding your spark-brother.”

Venture nodded. “I just need to pick it up from where he last was! And no one will tell me.” He scowled. “Maybe the ‘bots ‘round here are just impolite. Seems to be that way.”

“It’s that way everywhere,” Drift replied dryly. “Don’t mistake politeness for kindness, though. Even if they give you a smile, some ‘bots still want to get under your armor.”

“I can just sniff ‘em out, sir.”

Drift laughed at that. “And, another thing? You don’t have to call me ‘sir’. Just… Drift is okay.”

“Okay!” Venture watched him as he took the two energon containers off of the table. Carefully, Venture observed the process of putting them into the sanitation receptacle. He would help with that after the evening refueling, Venture vowed. “Sir,” he added in a whisper as Drift turned his back to exit the room.

The glare that Drift sent back at Venture did not match the fizzing amusement in his EM field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written Drift before this story, but I hope I'm doing okay! This chapter is a bit boring, but I hope it feels like the friendship between Drift and Venture is getting established.


	3. The Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venture and Drift look for clues. Someone looks for them in return.
> 
> (Rewritten and improved!)

“You’re sure that this is the right place?” Drift glanced at the gargantuan building that loomed above, not even attempting to hide the surprise in his optics. Painful nostalgia flickered through Drift’s spark as he gazed at the cross-shaped symbol adorning the library above. He remembered sponsoring the construction of this very library, though anonymously. 

“Yup!” Venture puffed up his chest. He was in his root mode, and stood about as tall as Drift’s chest. His mouth quirked to the side slightly as he stared at the library. “He went here all the time. He always wrote to me ‘bout it. He’d never seen so many datapads ‘n files in his life.” He glanced back at Drift, admiration making his violet optics gleam. “I reckon if we can find anythin’, it’d be here, sir.”

“I suppose that we shall see,” Drift muttered. The faith that the newspark constantly showered on him caused a prickly, uncomfortable feeling— Drift wasn’t even certain if he would be  _ able  _ to find Venture’s spark-brother. It was worth a try, but Drift hadn’t truly tracked anyone since his days on the Lost Light. He glanced down at Venture, only to see that the turbofox had scampered toward the building without any hesitation whatsoever.

Drift sighed, and followed him into the library.

Immediately, Drift felt out of place. Though the days of Functionism were long past, the library was still filled with the bulkier frames of forged medical-builds and the efficient, slender forms of science-builds. Occasionally, Drift would see a finial or spoiler or tail, marking a speedster or a beastformer, but even they were painted red and white to mark themselves of their future status. The bulky frames reminded Drift so much of Ratchet that it made his spark ache— a feeling that had not been so sharp for a long time.

Venture, it seemed, was unbothered by the lack of frames like himself. He walked to the front desk, completely unaware of the raised optic-ridges that the senior librarian was giving him.

“Hello!” Venture chirped. “I’m lookin’ for my brother. He’s a turbofox, like me! His name’s Wander…?” 

The younger librarian, a newly-forged microscope, lit up slightly in recognition. “Oh, hello! Yeah, I’ve—”

“We haven’t seen any turbofoxes, except you,” interrupted the older medical build next to him. “Perhaps you would want to check the crystal fields outside of the city.” Their optics were dim with contempt.

Venture frowned, oblivious to the meaning of the older mecha’s leering. “But my brother  _ goes _ to this school. He goes to this specific library all the time! He told me so. You  _ must’ve _ seen him here at some point.”

Drift wandered closer, and stood somewhat close behind Venture. He fixed the medical build with a stare— the classic stink-optic that Ratchet had mastered and Drift had spent constant cycles unconsciously perfecting. He was never able to quite get to Cyclonus’ or Ratchet’s level, but nonetheless, he narrowed his optics. 

The medical build’s face seemed to drain of energon. “Ah. It appears that my memory files have been jogged. Critter, why don’t you tell them about that customer? I just remembered something… that I have to do. Now.” The librarian, despite his blocky form, scurried away at record speed.

The younger science build, Critter, shrugged nonchalantly. “I saw the turbofox a few cycles ago,” he said. “With another ‘bot. I’m not sure why Hatch didn’t want to tell you, but…” he glanced back, where the medical build had disappeared. “He  _ has  _ been acting weird lately.”

Venture’s optics widened. “A few cycles ago?” he whispered at Drift. “Wander went missin’ a  _ decacycle _ ago!” 

“What did the other mecha look like?” Drift turned his gaze back toward Critter.

He shrugged. “Pretty standard medical build. Nothing particularly noteworthy… I just thought that they were studying together.” His expression morphed into that of nervousness. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing of your concern,” Drift said, before Venture could pipe up. He felt a tingling up his spinal strut-- an indication that he was being watched. “Thank you for your help. One last thing-- did that turbofox we mentioned have a favorite section? Favorite spot?” Venture _had_ said that he would be able to pick up Wander’s scent if it was somewhere he had often been.

Critter nodded, pointing toward the northernmost corner of the library. “By the window. I think he liked to look at the crystal gardens outside.”

Ah, Drift remembered requesting that those be installed. He could just hear Ratchet scolding him for such a frivolous display in that affectionate, ribbing way. Before he could say anything more, Venture had shifted into his beast mode and scampered in that direction, seemingly oblivious of the shocked glances that the medics-in-training were giving him. Sighing, Drift inclined his helm toward Critter in thanks before following Venture. 

The dense clusters of medical students thinned out as Drift went deeper into the library. The corner that Critter had mentioned was shoved between two datapad terminals, a small, forgotten chair with an indent in its center from constant use. Venture’s nose was on the ground, and he walked all around the area in an anxious circle. 

Venture lifted his gaze back toward Drift, worry deeply embedded in his optics. His ears twitched backward. “He was here not that long ago,” Venture whimpered. “If he’s been here, I don’t understand why he wouldn’t have contacted me!” He began to pace, sticking his snout into every nook and cranny that he could see.

Drift, on his part, scanned the area. Something jutted from a gap behind the chair. He frowned slightly, and tugged it out of its hiding place. The datapad in his hands had a cracked screen, its display flickering every now and then. 

“Venture.” Drift held the datapad up as Venture’s ears perked upward. “This look like your brother’s?”

Venture transformed into his root mode and grasped the datapad gingerly with both hands. His intake quirked downward in thought as he looked down at it. “Can’t be. Wander  _ never  _ left a datapad anywhere, and he never woulda let one be cracked like this!” He brought the datapad to his olfactory sensor and sniffed. “...It smells like his EM field, though.”

The same, familiar tingling dug its claws underneath of Drift’s plating. He could vaguely sense the heat of another mecha’s frame nearby, the prickle of a scrutinizing gaze. He kept himself between the other mecha and Venture, and didn’t turn around. “Venture, can you pick up which direction the scent goes?”

Venture shook his helm. “No. It just… disappears after a few units.” He frowned slightly as he looked up at Drift, seeming to sense how he had stiffened. Drift made a mental note to practice hiding his body language better-- Venture’s sensitivity was almost as acute as Rodimus’ and Ratchet’s had been.

“Well, it would be prudent to leave, then,” Drift said, putting a hand gently on Venture’s back. He guided him away from the corner, keeping his awareness on the area around them. The duo padded through another collection of shelves, Venture’s gait not nearly as confident as it was in his beast mode-- he tripped over nothing on occasion. Drift made a note of this; Venture clearly hadn’t used his root mode very much before entering New Iacon.

Upon exiting the library, Drift could make out another still figure in the crowd in the square. He turned away from them and their scrutinizing optics, untrusting of how closely they followed their movements. The way that those optics fixed on he and Venture sent prickles underneath of his armor, and his free hand instinctively drifted toward where his swords were once sheathed. Scrap. He would have to start carrying those again.

“Sir? Where’re we goin’?” Venture piped up nervously, optics flicking toward Drift’s face. “Are we goin’ back to yer apartment?”

Drift hesitated for a moment-- he  _ did not _ want the mecha monitoring them to find his home. His processor wandered toward protocols unused for a long, long time. “No.” He started on one of the footpaths designed for root modes. “We’re going to let him corner us,” Drift told Venture softly. “And when I tell you to run,  _ run. _ ”

“What? Why? What’re you gonna do?” Venture’s optics were wide, frightened. His fear permeated the very edges of his aura, making Drift’s finials itch. “Sir, I dunno if we should let them…”

“Trust me,” Drift said, gaze running along the sides of the paths. It branched off in many sections, leading to shopping centers and residential areas-- but the path that Drift wanted to take aimed downward, away from the living glow of New Cybertron’s light. He and Venture walked back toward the slums, zigzagging through alleyways and taking shortcuts. Throughout it all, Venture’s optics flicked back and forth from Drift to the view ahead. “This alley here,” Drift muttered, pulling Venture toward a dead end.

Venture’s legs quivered, although whether it was from exhaustion or fear Drift couldn’t tell. He let go of his shoulders, allowing Venture to shift into his beast mode. They waited, tense as the heavy pedesteps of a medical build drew closer.

Red and white, only barely visible by a half-functional streetlight, glinted from the entrance to the alleyway. Venture hid behind Drift’s leg, pressing close as his plating shook. Drift’s optics narrowed. His stance lowered, hands clenching into fists. He didn’t have his blades, it was true; but he had as much deadly strength coiled in his frame as he ever did. A surge of anger-protective-attachment surprised him, running rampant through his circuits as Venture’s fear caught Drift’s attention once more.

“Why are you following us?” Drift demanded, optics fixed on their stalker.

The mech stared back, seemingly transfixed. Their gaze was glazed over, half-conscious. “You’re him,” they said. They took a step closer, optics round with something like reverence. Drift barely suppressed a shiver down his spinal strut. “You’re him. The… the Silver of the Slums? Ratchet’s conjunx?” their voice lowered disbelievingly.

Drift’s finials were pinned against his helm. “Yes. I’m Ratchet’s widower,” he said. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I wanted to speak to you,” the mech said. Their helm was tilted downward. Drift could barely see the glow of their optics. “To deliver a message from… my group. I promise that it is relevant, Ratchet’s-conjunx.”

The name made Drift’s plating prickle and itch with barely-contained discomfort. He wanted to run, he wanted to rip the mech limb-from-limb. He mustered up every amount of discipline that he had acquired. “I’m not certain if I  _ want  _ a message from someone who was stalking my friend and I.”

“Not stalking, blessed Silver.” Oh, Primus, the mech’s hands were clasped together in a mockery of Spectralist fashion. Drift wanted to punch them, an impulse that he hadn’t possessed with even the most disrespectful of the mecha that he had helped during his exploits in the slums. This was not even ignorance-- it was deliberate misuse. It  _ had  _ to be.

“Fine. Tell us so that we can go.”

“Ratchet’s-conjunx and Ratchet’s-conjunx’s-friend,” the mecha bowed their helm toward Venture, who Drift felt flinch away. “My leader only wanted to state a warning, that you should not meddle in affairs that are not of your concern. That is all.”

“The affairs that I ‘meddle’ in,” Drift said, summoning Rodimus’ always-defiant face, “ _ are _ of my concern.”

The mecha bowed. Drift felt like purging. “That is all, Ratchet’s-conjunx. I will take my leave now.” The medical build turned and walked away. A haze of anger clamped down on Drift’s processor, and he was barely aware of his hands clenching, of his vents cycling  _ hard _ . He began to count, the most basic of techniques learned long ago.

“Drift, sir,” Venture squeaked, poking his leg. “Drift, are you okay?”

Drift glanced down at Venture, feeling himself soften slightly. “Yes, Venture,” he said.

“Were ya scared? I ain’t never heard of ya bein’ scared before. Drift, sir, if ya wanna stop helpin’ I understand, please don’t be mad or nothin’--”

“Venture,” Drift cut him off. “I’m not angry. I’m not going to stop helping. Let’s get home so we can take a look at that datapad, shall we?” He bent down, holding out a hand toward Venture, who stared at it. Eventually, Venture nodded, stepping onto Drift’s hand and hopping to his shoulder plate. He sat there, the warm weight of his frame calming Drift’s rapidly beating spark as he stood up and began to walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for reuploading this! I wasn't very happy with the direction that the plot had been going when I last posted this, so here we are now! I'm hoping that this chapter flows better, and that the ending is less choppy lol.
> 
> Tbh it's a really bad idea to disrespect Drift's dead husband in front of him, just saying 
> 
> I've been really busy with secret santas and other projects of mine and the like, but I promise that I'm cranking work out as often as I can! The first chapters of FSTS will be being reuploaded in their edited form, and then the story will be completed!


	4. Sword and Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wander had a conversation. Venture copies and learns. Drift is unaware.

Piston: hey, wander

Piston: you did really well on that last psychology test right

Wander: Yes, as well as I could have, I suppose. Why do you ask?

Piston: so ok i have a proposition for you

Piston: and youre smart so i figured that youd be the one to ask about it

Wander: It all depends on what you’re asking.

Piston: youre going to love this, i promise

Piston: its interesting and our professors definitely wouldn’t approve of it

Piston: but im doing like this independent study about brain module function

Wander: Okay. And?

Wander: You still haven’t told me what I am doing for you. Get to the point.

Wander: My spark-brother is coming to Iacon soon. This had better be short and important.

Piston: No no dont be like that, mech

Piston: i promise that this is much more interesting than some turbofox

Wander: Watch it.

Piston: ok ok fine.

Piston: you ever hear of shadowplay?

Wander: Yes. It is both morally wrong and illegal.

Wander: Piston, the likelihood of me helping you decreases by the klik. And I wasn’t exactly keen on helping you before, anyway.

Piston: no no no i promise its worth it!

Piston: you know those murders recently

Piston: i think it has to do with shadowplay

Piston: i got my hands on some of the autopsy reports and all of the victims have scars on their necks

Wander: What does this have to do with shadowplay?

Piston: so like mnemosurgery right

Piston: it leaves these scars on your neck cables, and theyre only visible under ultraviolet light

Piston: i think we have a stray mnemosurgeon on the loose

Piston: hes reprogramming people! And probably taking their memories for his dark purposes

Piston: mnemosurgeons leave a bit of their EM field everywhere they perform so i figure we could track him down

Wander: So, this is about you wanting to play hero?

Wander: Listen. I’m just trying to keep my scores up so that the academy does not kick me out.

Piston: but wander if we can disprove that theory that a beastformer is doing this

Piston: ppl will probably be less mean to you

Wander: I’d already been treated poorly before the incidents you’re describing.

Piston: cmon wander

Piston: you dont want your brother arrested when he comes into iacon do you

Wander: …

Wander: I’ll meet you at the library tonight. Once. If you can’t convince me to do this face to face, then I’m not doing it at all.

Piston: knew i could count on you smarty mech!

Wander: Ugh.

* * *

  
Venture flipped through the files of the datapad, looking at his brother’s words as closely as he had anything. The glow of the screen lit the area around him in a blue halo of light, straining his optics and making them hurt. Though his processor couldn’t comprehend glyphs as well as his brother’s could, it was the closest thing that he had to him at the moment; the datapad in his hands even smelled like his brother’s EM field.

The glyphs on the screen made Venture’s plating prickle. He didn’t like the other ‘bot that Wander had been talking to— even from the minimal amount he was able to understand they seemed ominus, untrustworthy. Why would Wander even be talking to someone like that? Why wouldn’t Wander tell him about it?  
He rubbed his neck-plates with one hand. Wander’s side of their bond had gone oddly still, in a way that only occurred when he was in recharge. To have it go silent when he was missing? Venture didn’t like it at all. He felt alone and empty and anxious without the comfort of a spark-brother’s emotions in the back of his processor. Could Wander feel his worry, at least?

Venture straightened where he sat, forcing himself to place the datapad on the table beside the berth he had taken over for the time being. He was making himself distressed, he knew, and it wouldn’t do him any good to keep himself from recharge. Venture sighed softly, kicking a soft pile of meshes onto the floor. He still hadn’t gotten to those soft things, for he was used to sleeping among raw crystal and rock and metal.

Movement; soft, almost indiscernible shuffling from another room in the apartment. Venture’s audials almost strained to hear it, but his body stiffened in reaction. Was someone intruding? He couldn’t smell any EM fields except his own, Drift’s, and the remnants of Wander’s. Venture shifted into his beast mode, hopping off of his berth with silenced, practiced ease. He padded through the makeshift berthroom, and then the kitchenette, sniffing and listening all the while. Venture’s tail wanted to twitch, as it usually did whenever he felt more anxious than usual-- Venture forced it to remain still nonetheless. 

Eventually, Venture stopped at a door that he had never gone through before. Judging by the scent, this was Drift’s habsuite. Venture hesitated. This was Drift’s private space, something that Venture could never, ever violate; even though he had never discussed it with Drift, it was simply… impolite to enter someone’s space without asking. Wander would be so ashamed of him!

Despite that, the soft movements continued, and so did Venture’s curiosity. He gave in, eventually, and silently poked his helm through a crack in the door. His optics widened.

Drift moved smoothly and quietly, despite the two metal blades that he held in his hands. His pedes shuffled on the floor in a practiced feat of grace, and every movement was fluid; one pose led to another, then another. His exvents were steady. Despite the ferocity of the weapons in his hands, Drift’s EM field exuded serenity and calm. Venture felt his own plating relax as he watched Drift, making note of how his joints and struts never creaked, never faltered. Venture had heard of the swordsmanship of the Silver of the Slums, but never did he think that he would see the raw skill being practiced before his own optics. Something in his processor clicked as he watched, in a way that nothing ever had before.

Was this how Wander felt when he discovered his love for the medical field?

A standardformer with such grace in his movements-- it was incredible. Awe making his movements hesitant, Venture quietly backed away and retreated back to his own berth. In his own root mode, Venture just felt gangly and bumbling. To be able to hold not one, but two deadly weapons as Drift would be almost impossible for him to achieve- for any normal mech to achieve.

Venture bunched his haunches beneath himself in preparation to jump onto the beth, but stopped. Glancing back at the door to make sure that Drift hadn’t followed him, he quietly shifted into his root mode.

His legs quivered beneath him from disuse-- or anxiety. Whichever it was, Venture felt endlessly awkward as he stood there, alone in a dimly lit room. You’re alone, Venture tried to reassure himself. No one can see you fall over. With a shaky exvent, Venture brought the memory file of Drift’s movements to the forefront of his processor. Slowly, he followed along, wobbling every once in awhile whenever he had to shift his stance from one pede to the other.

He felt ridiculous. He was a long, spindly thing, nothing like Drift’s sleek and steady frame. He wasn’t anything like Wander’s steady, calming movements. Despite it all, Venture kept moving. He pretended to hold long, sharp swords, to be a threat to anyone who would dare take his brother away. He continued until, at long last, his limbs gave out beneath him and his systems sank into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this formatted all nicely but ao3 doesn't like me...
> 
> Piston and Wander are texting, in case it wasn't clear lmao. I wasn't sure how else to depict this????
> 
> This is a shorter chapter, but it is important nonetheless! :3 hope you enjoy it
> 
> also please consider: sword fox


	5. Broken Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a short excursion to the New Iacon markets, Drift arrives home to something disturbing.

Drift glanced at the countless rows of energon crystals, all having grown in different formations and hues of pink and red. Although he had certainly purchased other minerals for ritual or meditation, the idea of purchasing raw energon for consumption was entirely foreign to him. Despite that, he walked through the aisles of the market, studying each crystal’s description with care. Drift wanted to find something that turbofoxes—or Venture, at least—enjoyed. He felt guilty about feeding the newspark something that he wasn’t used to, though Venture never complained. The strong dentae and robust tanks of a beastformer, though more than capable of refueling with refined energon, were meant to devour raw crystals rather than their liquid counterpart.

He swiveled his gaze all around. The majority of those shopping here were beastformers, and Drift felt the distinct impression of optics glancing and staring curiously. Was this how they normally felt, walking through the streets of New Iacon? He shook that train of thought off for the time being and continued his perusal, stopping when he noticed that the stall he stood in front of was run by a turbofox.

“Excuse me,” Drift said, adjusting his posture. The shopkeeper glanced around, seemingly taken aback by a standard-former speaking to her in this setting. “Are there specific types of crystals that only certain beastformers can eat? I’m rather unfamiliar with how this form of refueling works.”

“Well,” the turbofox in front of him said hesitantly. “I mean, the area of forging affects what folks eat more than anything, and it’s all a matter of personal preference… Why are you asking, speedster?”

Drift’s finials twitched when he realized that the shopkeeper had absolutely no idea who he was—this wasn’t the slums, and it wasn’t within the medical community, where he was famous as a donor and benefactor. This was something new; Drift felt almost gratified by it. “There is a beastformer—a turbofox—under my care right now. I feel bad giving him liquid energon when it isn’t something that he normally eats.”

The shopkeeper seemed to relax, and an easy smile crept across her face. “Well, in that case, I could show you a few things. You know where your mentee is from?”

Mentee? Drift realized suddenly that the shopkeeper had gotten the wrong idea. It couldn’t hurt anything, though, even if he wasn’t truly venture’s mentor. “I believe that he said that he was from Vespertine Blue.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to accommodate. Vespertine Blue beasts generally prefer crystals in more of a magenta hue.” The shopkeeper gestured to her right, where energon of that very hue speckled the shelves in a large quantity. “It all depends on the individual, though! These taste… earthier.”

Drift moved toward the display, studying the bunches of crystals. This was a way of life that he never even knew about beastformers. Although Drift knew very well that refined energon could come in many, many different forms of fuel (and intoxicants), he had never considered the variety that energon could come in its raw form. He chose a variety of crystals from behind the case, and the shopkeeper wrapped them in a small patterned mesh. Drift paid for the crystals, and was off, back toward his apartment and Venture’s recharging form. Drift had found the little ‘bot on the floor when he had awoken and had to put him back on the berth. He would have to ask Venture what he could change about the recharge setup, as it seemed that he slept so restlessly that he fell on the floor.

Or perhaps, Drift reflected as he traversed the twisting paths that led back down toward the slums, he was worrying too much. Drift hadn’t lived with someone for more than a decacycle since Ratchet’s passing, and he supposed that he simply missed the act of caring for another ‘bot. This was different than caring for and receiving care from one’s conjunx though; the sudden, protective urges that he felt in his spark had nothing to do with that. It wasn’t quite the fierce love that he had for his amica either. No, this new relationship was something far out of Drift’s experience. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t unpleasant, though, to have someone back in his living space, so close and trusting. The only thing that made his armor prickle about the situation was how confident Venture seemed to be about Drift’s ability to find his brother. As he thought, Drift’s mouth twisted. He dreaded losing Venture’s company, whether they found his brother or not.

Eventually, Drift found himself back at his apartment complex. He entered the building, hardly thinking about it as he went up the stairs— his mind was preoccupied with the thought of Venture’s shining optics just before digging into the crystals that Drift had bought. He smiled to himself. 

About to unlock the door to his small collection of rooms, Drift suddenly stiffened. Alert, his finials twitched backward. Drift opened his door. It fell over. Someone had broken it, and Drift felt confident that it wasn’t Venture. His spark squeezed. He ran inside.

The entire living space was ransacked. Shards of glass littered the floor, the temporary berths in his living room were turned over. The energon dispenser was shattered, pink liquid pooled on the floor. Claws had scored lesions into the metal floor, deep cavities that indicated a scuffle. Drift’s gaze swung around the room.

“Venture!” he called out, armor ruffling at the stains of energon littering the hallway. His hands clenched, he reached for his swords—they were clipped to his side today—and he stormed through the apartment. “_ Venture!” _ Drift walked into his own habsuite, which was just as searched through as the rest of the apartment. His optics took note of the overturned berth, of the smashed ritual crystals on the ground, of a sword stained with energon, of the shattered photo frames littering the floor…

A twitching tail stuck out from underneath of his berth. Drift kneeled down. He prodded it gently. “Venture?”

The tail disappeared into the tiny space, replaced by a pair of large optics. “Drift? Oh, Drift, sir, I’m real sorry!” Venture cried, poking his face out. His audials were pinned to the back of his helm.

“No, don’t apologize. What in the name of Primus happened here?”

“Someone came in! They were lookin’ for somethin’, and I wasn’t real sure what it was. Um, they kept mutterin’ about you and some Ratchet fellow? They took a buncha pictures off your walls. I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry.”

Drift’s gaze whipped toward the wall, now empty of the frames that Drift had so lovingly filled with photos of he and his conjunx and their friends. His sparkbeats grew more rapid, more angry. He struggled to keep his venting calm.

“Sir?” Venture squeaked, inching further into his hiding spot. “I tried to stop ‘em with one of yer swords. I’m sorry about that, too.”

Drift glanced back at the energon-stained blade on the ground behind him. “That was you?”

“I wanted to try, um, some stuff I saw you do.”

“You saw me practicing,” Drift realized, turning back toward Venture. “Venture—”

“My legs were shakin’ before I could even land a good blow. I tried to copy what you did, Drift, I really did! But that ‘bot just shoved me aside. He kicked me! Drift, he was able to kick me wherever he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him. Sir, I’m sorry I—” 

“Venture.” Drift held up a hand. “I’m angry, but I’m not angry at _ you _. I’m angry at the fragger that stole those photos from me— photos, of all things. I’m angry because they tried to attack you. I’m angry at myself, too— I’ve gotten too comfortable in Iacon.” He shook his helm. “Nevermind that. Are you uninjured?”

“Yes, sir,” Venture said. His voice was muffled from his hiding place.

“If you’re okay, then move from out of your hiding spot,” Drift chided, peering underneath.

“Um, I don’t gotta, sir. I’m rather comfy under here.”

“I’m sure.” Drift shoved the berth away—an easy endeavor from his angle. He glanced down at Venture, who crouched on the ground. A burn, most likely cause from a blaster of some kind, marred the purple plating along his flank. Drift felt his own armor twinge sympathetically. “Let’s get that wound clean.”

“I’m okay, really!” Venture chirped, hopping to his paws. He didn’t move like he was any worse for wear—Drift wondered if he had learned that from him. Nonetheless, Drift held out a hand, an offering for Venture to climb onto.

“Maybe now, but we don’t want the burn to get infected. That’s always nasty,” Drift said as Venture climbed onto his shoulders. He stood up, making his way into the kitchen—he kept a first aid kit there, obligatory as the conjunx of a medic. Rifling through the cabinets, Drift felt gratified to see that their contents had remained relatively untouched. He pulled out the kit and gestured for Venture to climb onto the table.

Venture sniffed the air, audials perking up as he caught the scent of the shopping bag. “Are those energon crystals, sir? Ow!” He winced as Drift daubed at the burn with disinfectant.

“Yes. I wanted to get something nice for you, to make you feel more at home. Don’t change the subject.”

Venture’s optics rounded. “You didn’t hafta spend your money on m—”

“I spend my money on what I choose, newspark.” Drift paused, meeting Venture’s optics. “This burn almost ate through your armor. What were you thinking, trying to use swordplay when he was blasting at you?”

“I thought about what you would do, sir,” Venture mumbled. “You know, bein’ a hero and all that. With your reputation, I thought, well… I mean, it seems easier when ya hear about such things from other mecha.”

“Indeed.” Drift evaluated the wound once more before stepping back. He scanned the damage done to the living room, to the kitchen, to every part of his temporary home. He’d been a fool to remain in one place for so long, with so many desperate mecha knowing exactly where he lived. Drift didn’t blame anyone that sold him out— had he been in their position, he would have done the same thing. Still, the idea of the intruder taking his personal effects, harming Venture— that was what made his armor prickle with barely-contained anger. He would have to find another place to stay, especially knowing the lengths that these mecha were willing to go to in order to intimidate. “Heroes aren’t one dimensional, Venture. They have flaws and failings; no one is infallible. Remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some worldbuilding in this chapter. I hc that beastformers eat energon in its raw, crystalline form naturally, even though they can also eat processed energon. It's more filling for a beastformer to eat crystal than liquid fuel.
> 
> Also, Drift has such big dad energy,, idk why there aren't more fics with him as a mentor/teacher.
> 
> For those that I'm working on gifts for - I am working on them! I just needed to get this posted.


	6. Growing Your Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift teaches Venture. Wander expresses opinions.

Piston: so whats your brother like

Wander: What?

Piston: is he all smart like you? know it all, etc?

Wander: He isn’t intelligent in the bookish sense.

Wander: I think that he would be happier simply living as a turbofox for the rest of his life.

Wander: For all that we share, ambition and book smarts are not two of them. He’s content to scrounge for crystals for the rest of his functioning.

Piston: you arent im supposing

Wander: No.

Wander: I’m going to do something with myself.

* * *

  
The motel room wasn’t the nicest. Venture could smell rust gathering in the corners, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the solvent in the shower was discolored, though he hadn’t tested that theory as of yet. His tail twitched nervously. Drift had relocated them here in order to throw off the mecha that broke into his apartment—he was certain that they would have no qualms about stalking them.

Venture shuddered as he thought about that shadowy, twisted mech, the one that had jerked him from recharge. They had rifled through all of Drift’s things, murmuring to themself in terrible, raspy vocalizations that had scraped against Venture’s audials like gravel. Their long, slender fingers prodded everything around them, searching with hurry.

That had been when Venture had begun growling, stalking toward the intruder with feigned murder in his optics. He hoped that the intruder, when faced with a seemingly rabid turbofox, would leave immediately; this was not the case. Instead, they simply grinned widely at Venture, their dentae long and filed sharp. They didn’t cease rambling to themself as they walked toward Venture, murmuring about someone named Ratchet and the divine and something about brain modules. The sight made Venture shrink away instinctively, and needles shot out of the tips of the ‘bot’s fingers.  


And he had tried to fight them off—he did! He had scratched and bitten and even shifted into root mode briefly enough to grab Drift’s sword and slash the intruder across the torso. Even so, the intruder had shot him across the room with a blaster, and the needles on their fingers seemed to vibrate as they grinned at him.

“Another foxy for the pack,” the ‘bot had cooed.

Venture hid underneath of Drift’s berth, preparing for the worst, when the intruder noticed the pictures lining the wall. Suddenly uninterested in the hidden and terrified turbofox, they began to pluck certain pictures off of the wall, knocking down the ones they apparently had no interest in. All the while, Venture crouched down and just watched, unable to do anything.

No, he could have done something. He could have fought harder, could have been better in his root mode, but he hadn’t been. Venture just hid under the berth until Drift returned.

Now, he listened for Drift’s footsteps outside. He rested his head on his paws, ears twitching every which way whenever he heard the smallest noise from an adjacent room. Through the walls, Venture could hear the couple next door yelling at one another, slamming objects down and insulting each other using words that Venture had never even heard before. He heard soft sobbing from the other side, and briefly wondered what caused that mecha to cry so.

The door opened suddenly, and Venture’s head immediately popped up. His tail wagged slightly as Drift stepped into the room.

“Drift! Sir! You’re back!” he hopped off of the slab, trotting toward the door.

Drift looked down with soft optics. He bent down, patting the top of Venture’s helm gently. “Sorry that took so long. I was scouting the area, finding places we could hide. Never been to this part of New Iacon, I admit. Oh, and also—” He pulled a small container out of his subspace. Venture knew what the delicious odor flowing from it was even before Drift told him. “—I found a place nearby that sells energon goodies.”

“Ya didn’t hafta do that, sir!” Venture couldn’t help but give a little hop of joy. Despite everything—his cowardice, his brother’s disappearance—he couldn’t help but give into how the smell of the treats made his tanks gurgle.

“Well, in that case,” Drift said, walking toward one of the berths and sitting on its edge. “I guess I’ll eat them all myself, and you’ll be hungry while we train.”

Venture jumped onto the berth next to him. “No, no, I didn’t say that I didn’t want one! Please, sir,” he begged, before the last part of Drift’s sentence registered. “Train? Whaddya mean?”

“You’ll find out.” The swordmech opened up the container, revealing a collection of gummy energon treats. Venture had only ever had them once on a visit to his brother, and even then they were stale—Wander had bought them too far ahead of time.

Venture transformed into his root mode. With greedy hands, he began to eat the gummies as if he had never eaten a morsel in his life. Bursts of sweetness flooded his taste sensors as he devoured his share, and the way the gummies stuck to his dentae caused him to make a smacking noise as he ate, the likes of which would give Wander a conniption.

Drift, though a bit more restrained, was just as enraptured by the sweets. Between the two of them, the entire box was soon completely gone. Venture couldn’t help but laugh at that, and began to giggle even harder upon seeing Drift’s stained faceplates. Blue and red and green remnants from the energon treats smeared across his mouth.

“Ya look like you were in a fight, sir!” Venture snickered.  
“You don’t look any better, newspark!” Drift teased back, grin twisting his mouth to one side. He nudged Venture playfully. “Come on. Let’s clean up before we go out.”

“Why are we goin’ out?” Venture asked, automatically preparing to shift to his beast mode. Drift held up a hand.

“Stay in your root mode. I want you to practice moving on two legs.”

“Oh.” He wrung his hands together. “Why? I can move a bunch more faster if I’m in my alt-mode.”

“You can’t hold a sword in your turbofox shape, Venture.”

“H-huh?” Venture stammered, staring at Drift with wide, disbelieving optics. “You’re gonna teach me to…?”

Drift nodded solemnly. “As much as I hate it, I think it’s worth it to learn some self-defense, particularly in the situation we now find ourselves in.” He paused. “The break-in certainly influenced that decision. Sword fighting won’t be much good in face-to-face blaster combat, but I think you’re stealthy enough.”

“I can sneak around with the best of ‘em, sir!” Venture hopped off of the berth, wobbling on his pedes as he landed. Before he could topple over, he grabbed the berthside table—it didn’t support his weight, and they both fell to the floor with a thump.

Drift chuckled, helping him up. “They’ll hear you coming from a thousand units away at this rate.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Venture scowled. “I’m just real wobbly when I walk in my root mode.”

“I can tell. This is why we are going to practice.”

“It’s embarrassin’, havin’ to practice walking.”

“It’s important to have an understanding of your entire self,” Drift chided.

Venture steeled his resolve, straightening his spinal struts as he leaned on Drift for support. “…yeah, okay. Let’s go, then.”

Slowly, both mecha exited their motel room. They trudged their way across busy sidewalks and streets, filled with ‘bots that had places to go and legs that could take giant strides. To see it all from Venture’s root mode, rather than close to the ground, was unnerving at best. His optics flicked from side to side, unused to how the gazes of other mecha would occasionally meet his own. Their attention usually passed right over him, but right now he was conspicuous.

“I don’t like this,” Venture murmured. “I feel like people are lookin’ at me.”  


“Most are too preoccupied with their thoughts to notice you,” Drift replied. “And even if they did, their scrutiny does not change you.”

“Well, yeah, I know that. I just feel awkward, is all.”  
They stopped in front of a small, empty lot, overgrown with crystal and rust. Venture could sense the living veins of Cybertron just below the surface. It was concealed from view by piles of junk—discarded bits of metal and tools and energon cubes. Drift guided him toward it, and Venture no longer felt exposed.

Releasing his grip on Venture, Drift took a few steps away. He pulled a sword out of his subspace. It was dented, and far shorter than the two that he wore at his sides. Venture had never seen anything more beautiful in his life as Drift handing it to him. With shaking hands, Venture held it, staring at his warped reflection in the dull blade. His legs began to ache from standing on them for so long.

“First,” Drift began. “We have to go over how to hold the blade. Start by putting your dominant hand below the guard and put your non-dominant hand on the pommel…”

* * *

Piston: hey wander, you got the stuff?

Wander: Don’t say it like that. It makes us sound like drug dealers.

Piston: we are drug dealers bc were gonna be doctors and we write prescriptions

Wander: You know exactly what I mean. And yes. I brought the texts that you asked for.

Wander: Tell me why you wanted to research shadowplay of all things for this?

Piston: cuz nobody else will!!!!

Piston: it’s *forbidden knowledge* so our professors are gonna be so impressed with us

Piston: im hoping to maybe find a cure for it, maybe help connect it to the murders

Wander: And we know a myriad of people that have definitely been affected by it. Good thinking, Piston.

Piston: i hear that sarcasm!!!!! we need no nonbelievers here

Wander: This isn’t about belief. It’s about science.

Wander: Anyway. You told me that this could help my brother. I’m choosing to trust you for once.

Piston: im very trustworthy

Wander: Of course.

Wander: I’m outside of your dorm with the datapads right now. Unlock your door.

Piston: see u soon bestie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing these chapters the most,,, can you tell??
> 
> I think many assume that beastformers want to be in their root modes most of the time, but that isn't always the case. Let's just say that I used BW Tigatron as inspiration! Poor Venture. Just let him be fox boy.
> 
> Don't worry, things will actually happen soon. I just needed to establish that, yes, Venture is learning how to use a sword. 
> 
> Also: please save me from essay hell i'm actually dying :')


End file.
